Something Just Made a Little Dent
by Samwise221b
Summary: It was the message that continued to taunt Sherlock and his family, making it hard to recover from what they have already faced. With the possibility that his greatest adversary returning to threaten his family, Sherlock has to once again solve the final problem but the stakes are higher and the consequences could be much worse then he ever imagined. 30 day challenge. Part 4 of my
1. Chapter 1: Holding Hands

_**Hello! So this is the 4**__**th**__** part of my Sherlock/OC series. If you haven't read the other stories, you may be a little confused but I will try my best to make this it's own story.**_

_**This is my attempt at the 30 day OTP challenge but I also want to take those daily themes and make an actual 30 chapter story. This first chapter is mainly set-up, as are most first chapters. I plan to develope a case and all that as the story progresses and I hope you, dear reader, will stick with me through this venture.**_

_**I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's canon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks.**_

_**Chapter 1: Holding Hands**_

"This-this thing can't happen right now! It can't!"

"Yes, it can and it is. You've done this before; you're a pro."  
"Once! I've done this once before!"

"Listen j-just keep your breathing steady. That's it: in and out, in and out."

"Okay, okay, I think I...NO! NO I DEFINITLY, DEFINITLY I CAN'T DO THIS!"  
"Yes, you can just..."  
"JOHN, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU SAY KEEP BREATHING I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

John takes in a deep breath and helps me into a somewhat comfortable position on the bed. This can't be happening; not right now and not like this. This started as a simple visit from John and Mary. It wasn't their choice to come by, but I don't mean that in a bad way; Sherlock needed someone to watch over Hamish and I while he was out on a case. Usually we are with Mrs. Hudson, but she's at her sisters. As luck would have it, though, having John here is a blessing. Had I known my water would break...God, I don't even want to think about the kind of panic Mrs. Hudson would fall into.

Neither of us can be left alone, not since that video first appeared all over London. It was everywhere and there was no escaping the sound of that voice.

His voice: Moriarty

His little 'Did you miss me?' chant ruined everything, or at least rocked off track for a little. No, not a little, a lot. I'm pretty certain that it's safe to say that Moriarty's return from the dead has completely changed our lives.

John and Sherlock have been working non-stop to try and locate the video's source of origin, but so far nothing as come up. Mycroft is working on it as well, but seeing that the British government seems to far more concerned with other matters, he hasn't been of much help. Lestrade has helped out, but work keeps him from being officially involved in any form of an investigation. I can't judge, really, nor can I be angry about it. I just want this to be over, even though it's only just begun. I just want my old life back.

I still can't shake the look of utter anger that fell over my husband's face as his eyes met those of the man he swore to have seen take his own life. I had seen Sherlock defeated before but this, this was a whole different level of despair. It was a dark look that I hadn't seen in a very long time; not since Moriarty's trial, not since the time before that fateful day at St. Barts. We were so close too; so close to getting things right then came that video, the day everything went wrong.

Sherlock was back to solving cases on a regular basis again, I was back at work and we were both doing quite well in raising our son while prepping for our new arrival at the same time. Things were good, excellent even. We had hit a rough patch where, I'll admit, I didn't even know if we'd make it through in the end. But we did and our relationship grew from it in every way possible. However, now, I feel like we are growing apart.

Sherlock has become rather recluse now, back to his ways of being more a machine then a man. It's all about the work and solving this puzzle, nothing more or less. He hasn't completely ignored me and Hamish, though, just been more distant. I like to think that these walls he's putting up is his way to protect us from whatever threat Moriarty may have in store. If there is one thing I know for certain about Sherlock Holmes, it's that he will never let anything happen to those closest to him. I have faith in him, I always will.

"Oh, God," I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, "This is ridiculous!"  
"What is? Giving birth?" John chuckles, rubbing a hand up and down my back, "Like I said, you've done it before."

"Yeah, but...but that was 3 years ago an...and then I was in a hospital," I point out, "and had epidural on hand to-to...OH JESUS CHRIST!" Another wave of contractions hit and I let out a loud scream of pain. John gives a worried look toward the bedroom door as he continues to rub my back. I know exactly what he's thinking because it's the same thing I am thinking: Where the hell is Sherlock?

He knew that today could have very well been the day I go into labor (and it appears I have) which is why he told John and Mary that he'd be out for only an hour. That was two hours ago. When my water broke, John immediately sent Sherlock a text then told Mary to watch Hamish while he takes me to the hospital. But I stoped him and said that I wouldn't go until Sherlock got home. "I'll be alright for a few more hours, I'm sure of it," I had said, "Sherlock will be home soon."

Looking back on it in this moment, it was a stupid decision.

I'm really surprised John let me wait, but then again he too thought that the real serious part of labor wouldn't begin for another few hours. But this kid is not waiting. Once my contractions started, it was too late for hospitals. John snapped right into doctor-mode and took control of the situation. With help from Mary, he set up a make-shift delivery room in the bedroom what with towels and whatever medical supplies he could find; who knew Sherlock's random equipment would actually come in handy? John then had Mary take Hamish out of the house with a promise to text her once the baby is born. That won't be long now, I'm sure. This baby is coming now, in 221b Baker Street, with no doctor other than John...and Sherlock won't be here.

"GOD DAMN IT!" I scream, tossing my head back and wringing the sheets in my hands. My head is pounding causing my vision to blur. My entire body is aching and the pain is just excruciating. Doubt fills my every thought; what is going to happen to the baby after this is done? I was in no way prepared for a home birth! My child could be in very real danger. Oh God, where is my husband?

"Fee, alright, we're going to have to go through with this," John says, massaging my shoulder "Now, I know this is going to be hard..."

"No, no, J-John," I manage to get out, "I have to...to wait."

"Fee, I know you want Sherlock to be here," he says, "but we can't wait for him. Your daughter is going to be here soon and we have to think about-"  
"Elfie Marie!"

The sound of my husband's voice fills my ears, causing me to snap my eyes open: "Sherlock!" I cry out. Through my blurry vision, I see Sherlock come running into the room and tossing his Belstaff to the floor as if it were nothing. His normally pressed white button up is ruffled and untucked and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His trousers have patches of dirt and grime on them and his wild curls are even more disarray then usual. Where was he?

My heart starts to flutter as he sits down beside me, gazing at me with all the love in the world. "I'm here," he coos, kissing my sweat drenched forehead, "my darling, darling girl. I made it."

"Where...the...hell...have you...been?" I pant, trying to not think about the contractions for this moment.

"Work, Elfie, I told you that," he replies as if it were nothing in the world, "and, my darling, I've made quiet the break through! You will be so proud of me. You know how I said that if Moriarty..."

"Sherlock, now is really not a good time," John warns, "She's having a baby, remember?"

"Shut up, John," my husband snaps, giving our dear friend a cold glare, "focus on your job."

"What the hell? Why do I get the attitude all of a sudden?" John asks, throughly confused.

"Because my wife shouldn't be giving birth at home. Why didn't you call an ambulance? And where is my son?"

"Your son is with my wife; they went out as soon as Elfie went into labor. And as for the ambulance, I was about to but your wife was against it. She wanted to wait for you."

"And you let her? Honestly, John, I would have thought your medical judgment could trump your feelings. Letting her go into labor at home is unethical."

"You want to talk about unethical, Sherlock? Let's talk about you running off on a wild goose chase the day your daughter is being born."

"It's not a wild goose chase and how was I to know Elfie would go into labor today?"

"Because your Sherlock bloody Holmes who pays attention to everything! I would hope that includes your pregnant wife!"

"Are you imposing I don't care for her?"

"That's not even close to what I said!"

"WILL YOU BOTH JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I scream as the contractions hit me full on. I toss my head back and cry out, closing my eyes and trying to shut the world out. This is it; that moment when everything is going to change. My baby is ready and I only pray to God that I am as well.

"Alright, Elfie, it's time," John instructs, "Remember you've done this before."

"Before she was in hospital," Sherlock quips in, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Sherlock, not now." John snaps back, "Alright Fee, get ready to push."

"Sh-Sherlock," I stammer as fear takes over my body, "I-I...I'm scared."

"Don't be. I'm right here, my brave girl, I've got you." Very gently, Sherlock intertwines his fingers with mine and my doubts quickly melt away as I feel his lips gently brush against my left temple; "I know you can do this," he whispers, "and I won't let you go."

With hot tears streaming down my cheeks, I nuzzle my forehead against my husbands; "Okay." is all I can whisper as Sherlock kisses my cheek.

"Alright, the baby's crowning," I can hear John say, "Get ready...Now, Fee, push!"

With a loud cry, I push with all my might.

"Good, Fee, perfect!" John coaches, "Again, push!"

Sherlock kisses my cheek again as I focus all my strength into this push.

"Last one, my darling," my husband coos, "Just one more...Push!"

"Push!"

Everything goes black for a moment and then the only thing I know is the sound of crying; my new born baby's cry. I collapse back into Sherlock's hold letting my entire body just go slack. My husband wraps his arms around me to keep me upright and just plants kiss after kiss on the top of my head. It's done, finally it's done...and I'm okay; exhausted but okay.

"Congratulations," I hear John say, "you have a healthy little girl."

"Did you hear that, Elfie Marie?" Sherlock whispers to me in the softest voice I have ever heard him use, "Our little girl is healthy and she's finally here."

Even though my energy is completely spent, I manage to open my eyes about half way to see John wrap a tiny, pink bundle up into a blanket. For a moment, just the fleeting piece of a moment, my little girl turns her head and sees me. I smile at her and rest my head back against my husband's shoulder as John takes her out of the room to clean her off.

"Sherlock, "I whisper, "did...did you see her?"

"I did," he replies, "I most certainly did. She is beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

I turn my head so that my eyes lock with Sherlock's and we share a deep kiss on the lips, one like we haven't shared in far too long of a time.

"We should get you to a hospital," Sherlock whispers when we part, "Just for precaution. It would be logical."  
I nod in agreement as I nuzzle my head into the space between his neck and shoulder. I look down at our hands that are so tightly intertwined and just study our fingers; "Thank you." I whisper

"For?" he asks

"Making it," I reply, "For dropping the case for just...just a moment."

"My darling, darling girl," he coos, stroking my cheek, "There is nothing, not even Jim Moriarty that could have taken me away from this. I promised you I'd be here and I never, never break a promise."

All I can do is give him a tired smile as I close my eyes again, letting the exhaustion take me once more. Sherlock kisses my forehead again then rests his head atop mine, our hands still held together. Just as I am about to fall asleep, John re-enters with our daughter tightly wrapped in a fresh blanket.

"I've called the hospital; they are sending people over now." he says, holding the bundle out to Sherlock, "They'll most likely want to take you just for a look over, but if you ask me, Fee, you couldn't have asked for a smoother home birth. Not to mention, you have a perfectly healthy little girl."

Reluctantly, Sherlock lets go of my hand then cradles our daughter in his arms. I watch through tired eyes as the world's only consulting detective looks adoringly down into the cooing bundle in his arms. There is a look of complete happiness and adoration on his face; a look I haven't seen in far too long of a time. Very slowly, I stroke my daughter's cheek as her father whispers to her.

"Look at you. You have your mother's eyes," he says, running a long finger across her nose, "Yes, definitely your mother's bright eyes."

Our daughter lets out a soft mumble as she reaches up a pudgy hand to grasp onto Sherlock's finger. Her green eyes scan over the finger as if it were the most fascinating object in the world; Ah, yes, she is most definitely a Holmes. I can't help but giggle then place a chaste kiss on her soft forehead.

"Your brother won't be too fond of sharing a room with you," Sherlock whispers as he takes a hold of her tiny hand, "But he is excited to meet you, just as we were. Your Mum and your brother and I are your family, Charlotte Marie, don't ever forget that."

"Charlotte Marie Holmes. Very old fashioned," I say, placing my hand atop his, "but I love it. She looks like a Charlotte."

"She looks like her mother," Sherlock says, turning his gaze toward me, "very beautiful."

"Sentimental bastard," I whisper, kissing his lips.

"Only with you," he replies just before kissing me back.

We nuzzle our foreheads together for a moment then look back at our little girl, holding onto her hand as if to wordlessly tell her that we will never let her down. She is ours and she will always have us.

No matter the case at hand.


	2. Chapter 2: Cuddling

_**Hello again.**_

_**Okay, so I am aware that these sort of stories are supposed to be a daily update kinda thing, but with my work I won't be able to do that. I will update as soon as possible; hopefully weekly.**_

_**Thank you for the support and for those who have read my other stories and came over here to read this...HELLO OLD FRIENDS XOXO.**_

_**Enjoy the next segment.**_

_**I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks.**_

_**Chapter 2: Cuddling**_

The wind outside is howling like crazy causing the walls of 221b to screech and stretch. A small but warm fire is glowing in the fireplace as my son and I sit up close on our assortment of blankets. Charlotte is swaddled up nice and snug in my arms, cooing and wiggling her chubby little arms about to grasp onto anything she deems interesting. She is very observant for a three month old. She is always studying things and rarely ever cries; always focused on what is going on around her. In short, she may have my eyes and hair, but Charlotte is Sherlock's daughter.

Sherlock is working, yet again, but I don't mind it. He spent the first month and a half of Charlotte's life here at home, working from his laptop and studying the evidence he's already collected. The entire back wall of our living room is decorated with pictures of maps and papers with fast written notes scribbled on them. Sherlock will stand in front of the wall, mumbling to himself while either cradling Charlotte in his arms or bouncing Hamish on his hip. I can't complain about him working at home if he continues to spend time with his kids. Sometimes, I'll catch him sharing his notes with them; what can I say? It's kind of adorable.

He seems to have discovered the source of the video or at least where the signal broadcasted from. It really came of no surprise to me when Sherlock said that it came from an abandon warehouse in a less desirable part of London just as I wasn't surprised when he and John went to investigate there was nothing to be found. I know that the video was very real, but any common criminal could have made it just as an awful prank. Sometimes, I really think my husband is chasing a ghost.

"Mummy," Hamish asks, plopping down to sit next to me, "can I see sister?"

A warm smile grows across my face as I carefully lower Charlotte down just a tad so Hamish can have a look. With her bright green eyes, Charlotte stares up at her brother and giggles. Hamish giggles back as if as Charlotte reaches a pudgy hand up to him; "Mummy, why she so tiny?" my first born asks, setting a hand atop his sister's.

"Because she is new, sweet heart." I reply, "Believe it or not, you were once this small."

Hamish squints up his face in disgust and just shakes his head; "No, Mum, I not small. Not ever." he says with affirmation, "I big, I told you."

"Yes, of course, sorry," I reply with a chuckle, "would you like to hold her?" With a very excited nod, Hamish holds his arms out as if to take her like a tray of food. I laugh and help him guide his arms the correct way as I pass his sister over. "Now, be very gentle Hamish." I coach, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders, "Charlotte is still delicate."

"I gots it, Mum," Hamish replies, adjusting himself into my lap.

I wrap my arms around my kids as the three of us cuddle close together. The storm outside seems to have picked up causing the wind to howl even louder. Surprisingly, Charlotte is unphased; she just stares up at Hamish and I as if we were two of the most fascinating people in the world. I can't help but smile at this scene, but part of me wishes Sherlock were here to see it. Even though he's been home, it's not exactly like he's here. His mind is on the case; its always about the case. Yes, I know being a detective is who he is, but sometimes I wish the work would take a back seat.

It will never happen, but one can hope.

"Mummy? You doing it." Hamish says, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Hmm? What, what was I doing love?" I ask

Hamish just looks up at me with a giggle and then turns back to Charlotte: "Don't worry bow dat, Sister," he tells her, "Mummy stops talking for bits then zones out."

"I do not," I tease, kissing my son's cheek.

"Do too!" Hamish giggles, facing me "You an Daddy do it. Daddy calls it his...er...his mind..."

"A mind palace, Hamish, but don't worry yourself about it now. You are far to young to understand it; Give it a few years and I'll teach you."

I quickly look up to see Sherlock leaning in the doorway with a proud smile on his face. His hair is completely a mess and he's wearing his sweats and that over-sized, navy blue jacket I've only ever seen him wear when he's at home sick. However, despite his look of complete disarray, I'm over the moon to see him.

"Here, Mum, take sister," Hamish says, handing Charlotte back to me, "I gots to see, Daddy. Daddy!" Hamish then stands up on wobbly legs and manages to run to his father with open arms. Poor Charlotte starts fussing due to the fast change of who was holding her, but I calm her by giving her my index finger to suck on.

"Oh, hello there. What a welcome home," Sherlock says, scooping his son up into his arms, "How are you Hamish?"  
"Good now dat you here," he replies, kissing his father's cheek, "Where were you?"

"Working," Sherlock replies, adjusting the excited toddler on his hip

"Your always working," I say in a quiet voice but Sherlock hears me. We make eye contact and I bite my lower lip in embarrassment; "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound like I was complaining."

"It didn't," he replies, giving me a smirk that causes my nerves to melt away. He then comes over to my side and sits beside me, hooking his free hand behind my neck; "Come here," he whispers, bringing my head in close. I smile as our lips lock in a deep kiss. If it weren't for our children making noises at the moment, that kiss could lead to a lot more.

"Eww, stop it," Hamish says, situating himself between Sherlock and I.

"What? Me loving your mother?" Sherlock laughs, "One day you will understand being in love, Hamish, and then you won't be able to stop kissing that person. We'll see how disgusting you find it then."

"Hopefully that is not for a very long time," I add in, moving in to be as close to my husband as possible. Sherlock just chuckles and wraps an arm around me as he leans back against his leather chair. With a Charlotte lets out a small cry as she reaches her pudgy arms up to him to which Sherlock replies by giving her his left hand to examine. It's a rare moment this, all four of us cuddled up together by the fire. In fact, this absolutely never happens. Better make the most of it then.

"Daddy, Daddy, guess what?" Hamish suddenly exclaims as he stands up, "I made you something!"

"Did you?" Sherlock asks, giving me a quizzical look.

"The power went out so there was no television for awhile," I explain, "Hamish took to drawing while I tried to fix the issue."

"Ah, that explains why its so dark in here." Sherlock says with a nod, "Well, Hamish, then let's see it." With a bright smile, Hamish takes off toward his bedroom. Charlotte lets out a little fussy cry for attention, waving her arms about, just as we are about to kiss again; "What's this now?" Sherlock says, taking her into his arms, "What's the matter, little girl?"

"She just wants her Dad," I say, wrapping my arms around Sherlock's middle and resting my head onto his shoulder, "She loves it when your home."

"I like being home, believe it or not," he replies, kissing his daughter's nose, "Yes, I truly do."

I smile at him and place a soft kiss on his neck; "It's nice to have you home," I say, "but, dare I ask, Sherlock, why you're dressed like a member of your homeless network."

"I'm embarking on some undercover work," he replies,adjusting Charlotte to rest her head on his shoulder, "I have to get to the center of all of this."

"All of what exactly?" I ask, snuggling close to his side, "I mean, does Moriarty still have some sort of a network out there?"  
"I'm not sure, which is why the undercover work is needed," he replies, "but I don't want to talk about that now."

"Oh?"  
"At least not in front of the children."

"I see."

"But I promise you that I will solve this."

"I know."

"I promise."

"I know you do."

"Elfie Marie,"  
I turn my gaze to him and just look into those seafoam orbs of his, completely in love with him. He knows that I don't like any part of this Moriarty ordeal, but he has to solve it. That's just who he is; Sherlock Holmes hates to leave any mystery unsolved. As if to wordlessly drop the subject, I stroke my husband's cheek and place a soft kiss on his lips.

"I love you," I whisper

"I love you too," he replies, "always."

"Daddy, look it!" Hamish squeals as he comes running back into the living room, swinging a large piece of paper around in his hands. With a grand thump, he plops down into my lap. "See, I made dis." Hamish proclaims holding his artwork up with pride.

On the paper is a large yellow smiley face, very similar to the one spray painted on our living room wall, surrounded by various scribbles of brown and blue crayon. At the very bottom there is an inscription that Hamish wrote (well, I did actually, but he told me what to put):

_To Daddy_

_I Love You_

_Hamish and Charlotte_

"It says Sister's name but I made it," Hamish points out, "See! It like our wall! Now you cans take home wit you when you goes to work."  
I look at Sherlock and can't help but smile at the look of utter gratitude on his face. A small tear rolls down his cheek causing him to quickly wipe his eyes with his hand. He then takes the picture and looks it over as if it were the most important item in the world. This is another one of those rare moments; when the world's only consulting detective shows his softer side.

People rarely ever see the 'human side' of Sherlock Holmes, but I am one of the fortunate ones who gets to see it all the time. It's part of the reason I fell in love with him, really. He has a heart that can be hard to find under that hard shell of the emotionless facade he puts on, but I found it. Nearly 5 years ago, I found that heart and thus the human side of this exquisite man.

"What do you think?" I whisper, wrapping my arms around Hamish's middle to hold him in place in my lap.

Sherlock turns his attention to his son, who is so desperately awaiting his father's reaction, and give him a kiss on the forehead; "Thank you, darling, darling son," he says, clearing trying to hold back tears, "Truly, thank you."

"Youse welcome," Hamish replies, kissing Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock looks up at me and I just smile back at him; "Whatever happened to the man who despised sentiment?" I tease in voice that only Sherlock can here.

"It seems the idea of it has begun to grow on him," he replies and we both just chuckle. Once again craving to be the center of attention, Charlotte lets out a small cry and pats her chubby, little hands against Sherlock shoulder. Setting his picture aside for the moment, Sherlock adjusts Charlotte to be cradled in the crook of his arm while he wraps his free arm around Hamish and I.

And so here we are; Sherlock and Elfie Holmes cuddled up together in front of the fire on a windy London night, with our children nuzzled up in our arms. It's almost like a scene from a movie, how perfect everything is right now. I never thought my life would end up like this and neither did Sherlock. We've both changed from the people we once were and I don't think anything would ever make us go back.

Not even Jim Moriarty.

I rest my head back onto my husband's shoulder and close my eyes, completely in love with this moment and praying that this will never end.


	3. Chapter 3: Fear

_**Thank you all for being patient with me. Finally, I have an update. I wont bore you with excuses, but let us just say that life often gets in the way of doing things we love. Eh, whatever. :)**_

_**Thanks for all the support and reviews; things are going to start heating up now and I'm very excited about where it will all lead. :)**_

_**I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks.**_

_**Chapter 3: Fear**_

_7:55 PM on Monday, October 24_

I was done for the day, all alone in the building, when it happened.

_7:55 PM_

That's when it happened; the moment my nightmares became reality.

He was there in my office doorway, as if there was not a problem in the world. I was packing up, getting ready to leave, when I caught sight of his shadow on the floor. My gaze followed the shadow until I discovered it's source. Once we made eye contact, I could feel the vomit rise up in my throat. He was wearing that black suit I had seen so many pictures of him in with a sly smile on his face. How did he get here without being noticed? What kind of sick trick did he pull to get to this point?

Why the hell is Jim Moriarty standing in my office? 

"Odd isn't it?" he says, casually leaning against the doorframe, "You and I are so close and yet, this is our very first time meeting."

I can't muster a reply; I'm too in shock and frightened.

"It's been awhile, Elfie," he goes on, vainly checking his nails, "I believe last time we spoke you were still Ms. Stegerson. But now look at you: a wife, a mum. Tell me, is Sherlock a good husband? Frankly, I thought he'd be rubbish at it. The sex must be great though; is that why you keep him around?"

Anger quickly replaces the fear as I grip tightly to the cell phone in my hands. "I wouldn't try calling anyone," he says, motioning his head toward my phone, "By the time anyone could reach you, I'll be long gone."

"H-how?" I muster, trying my damnedest to keep my voice leveled.

"How: such a vague question," He taunts, "It could lead to so many things; How did I get in here without attracting attention? How did I find you? How am I even standing here right now?"

I bite my lower lip and place my phone down with caution. With a laugh, Moriarty comes into the room fully. He can see right through me; he knows that I'm angry, I'm afraid, I'm confused. More importantly, he knows how to work that to his advantage.

"So how have you been, Mrs. Holmes?" he asks, eyeing me with that devilish glare, "Good? Busy? I heard about that Victor Trevor business; how unfortunate for you and your hubby to go through all that."  
"Get out." I hiss between my clenched teeth, but Moriarty just laughs.

"I come all this way to come see you and you tell me to leave; how very rude, Mrs. Holmes." he says, mockingly shaking his head in disgust, "I expected some manners from you."  
"Your not worth my good graces," I quip back

"But I'm worth your husbands. Tell me, how excited was he when he first saw my little video? Like a kid at Christmas?"

"He wasn't excited; he was furious!"

"Was he though?" Moriarty taunts, sitting down on the edge of my desk, "That message was directed at him, you know. Did he miss me? Did he miss my challenges? Did he miss having an adversary that is actually a threat?"

"Leave now or I will call the cops!" I quickly snap.

"That's it? Just a stern warning?" he taunts, "Oh, Mrs. Holmes, have you forgotten who I am? Your family friends at Scotland Yard as well as your brother-in-law can't scare me let alone bring me down. I am far to clever for that."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Sweetheart, the only person in the world who could muster any form of caution in me is your husband. Hence why I'm back." Moriarty goes on, picking up my name plate and fiddling with it, "Truth be told, Mrs. Holmes, I missed Sherlock.I missed his intellect, how boring he could get but then at the same time keep my fancy. As I told you all those years ago, Elfie, your Sherlock is the perfect opponent and I love to play with him."

"I'm not going to warn you again," I try (unsuccessfully) to threaten, "Get out now or I will have you arrested."

"You seemed to have gone soft since last we met," he says, looking up at me, "Less of a risk taker it seems. More of a...well, more of a mother. How are the little ones? You've got 2 yes?"

"Leave my kids out of this," I snap, "This is between you and Sherlock so there is no..."

"Ah-ha! There she is: Sherlock's girl," He laughs, "The woman who would fight for her man." A smile that could only be described as sickening slowly grows across his lips. I feel as though I am going to be sick and all I want to do is go home, forget this meeting and protect my kids.

"Why hasn't your name changed on this?" Moriarty asks, lifting up my name plate, "It still says Stegerson. Oh, is your matrimony a secret? Does Sherlock not want the world to know about his little woman?" Finally snapping, I snatch up my letter opener from my desk and lunge toward him. Moriarty quickly knocks the 'weapon' out of my hand then grabs me by the throat so I couldn't even cry out; "Seriously," he chuckles, "a letter opener? God, I expected so much more from you."  
He then tosses me to the ground and pins me there with his Italian leather clad foot pressing hard against my chest.

"What...what do you want?" I struggle to say as he steps down harder.

"Oh, don't you fret. I just need you to deliver something for me."

Fear paralyzes me as Moriarty takes both my wrists into his hand and pins them above my head. He then manages to slither his free hand up my shirt and leans down to whisper in my ear: "There is a grand party to be held at the house by the sea in 2 weeks time. It would be great honor to have Sherlock Holmes and his blushing bride in attendance. Find me on the balcony, dearie, under the stars." He then places a soft kiss on my cheek; "I'll be seeing you soon." he says, getting off of me, "Yes, very soon." And just as quickly as he entered, Moriarty left my office.

Shock fills my every nerve.

I couldn't move, even if I want to.

His venomous voice echoes through my mind.

All I can do is curl up on myself and cry.

"Damn it," I mutter to myself between tears. Very slowly, I manage to curl up beside my desk and bring my legs in close to my entire body is shaking in fear and anger; why did he come back? Why is still haunting my life? I thought this was all just some horrid prank, pulled by some low-class criminal, just to spook Sherlock but now I've seen the proof. That wretched man was standing in front of me, plain as day. I wanted to scream, I wanted to call for help. But I didn't; I just stood there.

I don't know how long I remained on the floor, weeping like a lost child. Resting my head on my knees, I try to calm my racing mind and figure out what to do now. I don't want to walk out alone, but I know I can't stay here. And what about my children? Dear God, what if Moriarty went to find them? Without another thought, I snatch up my cell phone and quickly call the only person who could help me. The only one who could ever save me in times such as these.

After about three rings, a tiny voice comes on: "Low, you've call my Daddy's phone. Dis is Hamish."

"Hamish, sweetheart," I breathe out, placing a hand over my heart and closing my eyes to hold back more tears, "Oh, honey, you're okay. This is Mummy."  
"Low, Mummy!" my son exclaims, "Whys you not home?"

"I-I will be, sweetheart. I'll be home very soon," I reply, "Can...can you please give the phone to your father?"

"Yup, yup, yup. One minute." he says with a giggle, "He sleeping."

There is a bit of muffled noises but then my husband's (very tired) comforting baritone comes on the other end; "Sherlock Holmes,"

The mere sound of his voice causes me to immediately start crying again; "Sherlock," I manage to get out, "honey, I-I need you."

"Elfie, where are you?" he says, suddenly sounding very alert, "What's wrong?"  
"Please, can-can you just come get me?" I cry, "I'm at work."  
"Alright then," he says, "Meet me on the steps."  
"No, no, I don't...I don't want to go out alone!" I panic, breathing very heavily, "Sherlock, please, I don't know if he's still here or if he's left the building. I'm just...I'm frightened, Sherlock, please!"

"Alright, alright, darling, just-just stay calm," he calmly says, "Who are you talking about? Who..." he then stops himself, already having found the answer to his question: "What did he say?" he asks, a cold sting to his voice, "Did Moriarty tell you anything?"

"Just-just some kind of riddle." I muster, "But-Sherlock, can you just come get me, please! I don't want to be alone!"

"I'll leave the kids with Mrs. Hudson and be right over."  
"Please hurry."  
"I'll be mere moments, my darling, I promise. Are you in your office?"

"Yes."

"Alright Elfie, don't hang up, do you understand? Stay on the line." "...Okay."

"My darling, I love you and I will come for you."  
"I-I know."  
"Don't hang up."

I don't know how long I waited for him but the moment I open my eyes, Sherlock is kneeling in front of me with his hands gently grasped onto my shoulders. Immediately, I toss my phone aside and wrap my arms around him in a warm embrace. He holds me in return, running his hands through my long dark hair and whispering sweet nothings in between kisses on top of my head.

"He-he came out of nowhere," I cry, nuzzling my head onto my husband's shoulder, "I froze! I should have called you or...or something!"  
"Shh, Fee, it's alright. You're alright." he coos, gently rocking me in his hold, "That's all that matters to me right now."

"But I could have protected myself," I protest, looking him in the eye and gripping onto the collar of his coat, "I shouldn't have just shut down like that; I'm stronger than that. Sherlock, I am sorry."  
"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," Sherlock quickly replies, cupping my face in his hands, "do you understand me? You are alive, that is what is important to me right now. Fear is inevitable, my darling, and...and I thought that my worst fear has come to light." He then brushes his thumbs across my cheeks; "I thought Moriarty had taken you from me."

"No, I-I wouldn't have let him." I promise in a meek voice, "I won't ever let him. Sherlock, he's...he's supposed to be dead."

"I know, I know," he replies, bringing me in for an embrace again. Just as tears start to fill my eyes again, I wrap my arms around Sherlock and hide my face in soft fabric of his black t-shirt. He holds me in return and places a kiss on my left temple.

"I thought he was gone forever." I whisper, holding onto my husband as tight as I can.

"I wish that were true" he replies, "Let's go home now, yes?"  
"Okay." I whisper, "Sherlock?"  
"Yes, Fee."  
I slowly lift my head and nuzzle my forehead against my husband's: "Solve this." I say in the strongest voice possible, "Please, no matter what, solve this."

"With all of my heart," he replies, holding me close again, "I promise you, I will solve this case."


	4. Chapter 4: Hanging Out With Friends

_**Hello again all!**_

_**So in case it isn't clear yet (I don't think it would be with only 4 chapters) but I've combined a few different 30 day OTP lists to make this one. I wanted to go for something a little unique and be able to create a cohesive story. **_

_**This chapter is the 'hanging out with friends' prompt but not so much on the 'hanging out' bit...does that make sense? Reading it back, no it doesn't. ...Sorry. Also, this chapter has references to my previous stories so if you haven't read them, you may be a bit confused.**_

_**As always, I thank you for your support and reviews. **_

_**I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks.**_

_**Chapter 4: **__**Hanging out with friends**_

"And he came in undetected?"

"I assume so, yes. I was the only one in the building."  
"Where was everyone else?"

"Done for the day; you know I work late."

"That is beside the point. It is completely unethical to leave a public building such as the museum unwatched with an employee still inside during the late hours of the night. How idiotic can people be?!"  
Sherlock feverishly runs his hands through his curls as he quickly goes back and forth across the Watson's living room. I am on the couch with Mary, who has a comforting arm around my shoulders, while John is standing nearby just watching Sherlock pace. Charlotte and Hamish are asleep in the room next door, but I wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock's yelling wakes them. I don't want to discuss Moriarty right now, but Sherlock seems pretty determined to. I'd much rather focus on how to protect our kids, but who am I kidding? Sherlock's furious and he wants to end this now.

We came over here late last night, after Sherlock brought me home from the museum. He said that it would be safer if we were to stay someplace else for the night, just as a precaution. Honestly, if Moriarty was watching 221b then I think he would have known we would be going to John's but, none the less, I followed my husband's lead. We grabbed the kids then Sherlock called John; the good doctor and his wife were waiting for us on the stoop when we arrived.

They didn't ask any questions, only just showed us to the guest room. Mary helped me unpack our overnight bags and set up a crib for Charlotte while I told her what had happened. Sherlock had our little girl cradled up in the crook his arm and holding Hamish's hand as he filled John in on how he had to come and get me. Since we left the house, Sherlock hasn't lost sight of either child. In the cab over here, he held Hamish so close to his chest that I thought the poor boy might suffocate. I think the fear is finally setting in for Sherlock; if Moriarty made a threat against me, then whose to say he won't come after our kids.

"What about this riddle?" Mary asks, "Do you know anything at all about 'a house by the sea'?"  
"He's obviously giving me a location to meet him, but it's vague, too damn vague," Sherlock grumbles, ruffling his hair again, "During my time abroad, I've heard rumors of a home near Barafundle Bay where Moriarty and some of his colleagues would meet but that was nearly four years ago."

"Barafundle Bay, isn't that in Whales?" John asks

"It's a remote place," Mary states, "It makes sense as to why Moriarty would set up base there; no one would suspect it, nor would there would be anyone around to question it."

I give Mary a sort of confused look. She sounds like someone who'd be an expert in this sort of thing. I can see out of the corner of my eye, John's a little taken back too, but Sherlock seems fine. Actually, Sherlock seems to be slipping into his mind palace so he'll stop talking in a little bit.

"Valid assumption, but as I stated that was four years ago. He would have moved base by now," Sherlock snaps, "There are hundreds of houses that fall under the category of 'by the sea'. And which sea, hmm? Too damn vague."

Sherlock paces back and forth a few more times, his steps becoming quicker as he mumbles incoherent thoughts under his breath. He does this when he becomes fully involved in a case. To other's he looks like someone having a mental breakdown, but to John, Mary and myself this is completely normal.

"And what about you Fee? Are you okay?" John asks, focusing the attention on me while my husband sorts through his many thoughts, "I mean, seriously, this man threatened you and now..."

"I'm okay now, John, I promise," I say, giving him a small smile, "Thank you."  
"Really?" Mary joins in, "You have just seen a man who is supposed to be dead."  
"Trust me, I'm use to people coming back from the dead," I say, looking at my husband. Sherlock catches me out of the corner of his eye and for a brief moment smiles at me before returning to his pacing. Huh, it's nice to know that I can still break him out of 'case mode' every now and then.

"There's no point on lingering on my fear," I go on, facing John, "that won't help us solve this whole mess."

"Yeah, okay, but what about your children?" John asks, "Please don't let this whole mess take both you and Sherlock away from them."  
"It won't." I state very matter of factly, "Hamish and Charlotte are all the more reason to find a solution to this. I'm not putting my kids in any danger nor will I let Moriarty get even an inch near them."

"Fee, I've always admired how brave you are, but you have to be rational," John says, "You can't both be on this case."  
"John, I don't like this," I say, getting rather frustrated with this whole situation, "but if I have to be involved, and if it means the long term safety for our kids, then I'm involved."

"Fee, listen," Mary tries, "I know we all promised not to talk about that case, but look what happened with Victor Trevor. You followed your gut-rightly so, if I may add- but nearly died."  
"I can take care of myself," I mutter, but the memories of Sherlock's most recent case have shaken me. Yes, I was almost killed trying to save my husband, but I survived; I will always have the scars to make sure I won't forget it, but I still survived. What's the point in being a survivor if you can't move on from it all?

"Us," Sherlock says, more so as a question then a statement taking all three of us by surprise.

"Oh, hello, I thought you were done talking to us," Mary says, but Sherlock just brushes the comment aside.

His piercing, seafoam green eyes are solely fixed on me just as if John and Mary are not even here. There is a spark in his gaze, one that I haven't seen since he and I were dating. He's looking at me the same way he would back when I would help out on cases, back when life was simpler. Well, actually, life has never been simple with Sherlock Holmes.

"You said 'that won't help _us_ solve this whole mess'," he reinstates, taking the few steps to be standing directly in front of me.

"Yes, us," I reply, "Moriarty said that you and I are to go to this party. No matter how much you protest it, Sherlock, I'm coming with you to wherever this place is."

"And yet you said you'd never leave me," my husband says causing me to furrow my brow in confusion.

Sherlock then takes both my hands into his and kneels down in front of me. Our eyes lock and I feel my heart begin to beat like seems to stand still; it always does when it comes to him. I feel just like the girl I used to be, the one who would run off with Sherlock Holmes in an instant and never caring what else was going on. For a moment there, I want to just take him into my arms and kiss him, but

"Do you remember that night all those years ago when you met me at Heathrow?" he asks in a somber tone, "The night I came home from Karachi."  
"When did you go to Karachi and what the hell for?" John asks with a chuckle, but we both ignore him.

"Yes," I reply with a nod,letting the locked up memory of that night reflood my mind, "how could I forget? But, why are you bringing it up; we promised never to talk about it."

"Did something happen between the two of you at the airport?" Mary chimes in, but once again Sherlock and I ignore any 'outside' comments.

"I know we did, but I need you to remember what you said to me," my husband states, "After I had hurt you, treated you so unfairly, even told you that you should cut me out of your life forever, what did you say to me?"

My cheeks turn a slight shade of pink and I let out a heavy sigh: "I said that I could never have you out of my life, that you were my best friend and...and that I wasn't going to leave you."

Sherlock smiles at me and nods in affirmation; "I've never forgotten a single detail about that night," he says, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, "how relieved I felt when I saw you at baggage claim, when you said those words to me...when I told you I loved you."  
"Sherlock," I breathe out, "why are you bringing this up? What has any part of that Irene Adler case have to do with-"

"Whoa, whoa, what was that? Irene Adler?" John quips in and I immediately remember that Sherlock and I are the only ones who know what really happened to The Woman; "Sherlock, please tell me that whole mess is far behind you."

"Very far behind me, John, now take your wife in some other room and shut up," Sherlock says, giving our dearest friend a small glare. John gives Mary an exasperated look, but she just rolls her eyes and rises from the couch.

"Come along, Husband," she says, taking him by the arm, "let's go check on our godchildren and let these two be."

"But," John starts to protest, but Mary just ushers him out of the room. I know that they will just be one room over, most likely eavesdropping in on our conversation, but I don't care. I just want to know what Sherlock is getting at; why bring up that night at the airport? We need to be focusing on the case at hand not dwelling on the past.

Sherlock watches our friends go then looks back at me with a much softer expression; "Fee, from the moment I told you I loved you...Hell, from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I've never wanted to hurt you." he goes on, "You knew my life was full of dangers and chaos, but you still stayed with me."

"I even went so far as to marry you," I add, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Yes, and God only knows why you said yes to me the day I asked for your hand," he says with a small smile, "Any sane person would run away from a life-long relationship with me the moment they could. But you didn't."

Sherlock then takes a moment and looks down at my wedding band, a small, melancholy smile growing across his lips; "My darling, darling girl you have been by my side and I will never understand how the fates decided to put you there." he goes on, gently massaging my knuckles, "When I gave you this ring, I promised to never let any harm of any kind come to you. But how can I keep that promise if we both keep stepping into the line of fire?

Elfie, I won't loose you. I have seen you at the very brink of death and it broke me. The very fact that it was my fault you were lying limp in my arms, devastated me and I honestly doubted my chances of going on without you. When I thought I had lost you, your words outside Heathrow were all I could think about. You said you weren't going to leave me and...there you were; gone and it was my fault.

I'm never going to let anything like that happen again. Moriarty has placed a threat on us and I will solve it, I promised you that. What did I tell you all those years ago, hmm? I don't want you anywhere near Moriarty. Our children and I need you, please don't forget that."

"Sherlock," I coo, cupping his face in my hands, "I love you and I will always be grateful for everything you've ever done for me. As for Hamish and Charlotte...God dammit, I need them, more than anything, but I can not and will not let you keep me on the sidelines of this one. Moriarty came to me, he mentioned me in his threat...Sherlock, I'm involved wether you like it or not and I have to protect our kids."

Sherlock closes his eyes and takes in a sharp breath; "You're not listening," he says, taking my hands into his again, "I'm not pushing you to the side, I'm trying to protect you."

"And I'm trying to protect our family," I counter point, "If Moriarty wants both of us, then he's going to get the both of us. What is it you always say; we are an us. One can never be without the other. That's how we are going to fix this mess, Sherlock; as an us. I won't budge and I won't let you tell me otherwise."

Sherlock lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head in disbelief; "For God sakes, Elfie Marie, how I have always hated your pride." he says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into an embrace. I close my eyes and hold him in return, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders.

For countless minutes, we don't speak. There really isn't anything more for us to say; Sherlock doesn't want me near Moriarty,but I have to be. If not just because he mentioned me in his threat, then for the sake of my kids. I won't let that madman hurt them, not by a long shot.

"I love you, Sherlock Scott Holmes," I whisper, placing a kiss on my husband's cheek, "and I love our family. Please let me protect them."  
"It's been a long and well-known fact that you don't need me to let you do anything; you'll just do it anyway," he replies and I chuckle. He then moves his hold on me so that one arm is wrapped around my waist and the other is around my shoulders. We look at one another and we share a quick kiss.

"I loathe the idea of you helping me with this case," he goes on when our lips part, "but you are right. Moriarty wants both of us and...and I know he will do everything he can to get his way, even go as far as to harm our kids. You have to come with me to this house by the sea for our family's sake. This won't be easy for me, understand that, but in my heart I know that this is the right thing to do. I have to solve this. We have to solve this."

Unable to think of anything else to say, I cup Sherlock's face in my hands and place a deep kiss on his lips. He kisses me back and tightens his hold on me, never wanting to let me go. Truth be told, I never want him too.


	5. Chapter 5: Shopping (sort of)

_**Thank you all for waiting. I hope you are enjoying this and your responses mean so much to me. I will be heading down to the San Diego Comic Con in a few weeks and then I will be in Hawaii for two weeks. I will try to get at least one more chapter up before I go**_

_**Also, I have found a whole folder of abandoned prompts that I had written so I am working on developing some new stories from those; some Johnlock, some Sherlolly, and maybe even some Doctor Who/Sherlock crossover Pondlock (that's my secret love ship). I'll let you guys know when I post those and I hope you'll check them out. I'm not giving up on this, I promise.**_

_**As always, I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks :)**_

_**Chapter 5: Shopping (sort of)**_

There are things I've done, both simple and obscure, that others may deem uncouth or 'too much for one to handle'. I've gone to crime scenes and studied corpses, but never batted an eye. I've faced a criminal mastermind and lost a friend in the process, but I moved on. I've been a widow, but then witnessed my husband's own self resurrection. I've been a single mother, but then no more. I've watched the man I love nearly rip himself apart from drug addiction, then helped him recover. I've had my life hang in the balance, but by some miracle survived my battle wounds.

Yes, my life as Mrs. Sherlock Holmes has sent me through many emotional roller coasters and I wouldn't change a single moment of it. However, today, at this very moment, I'm questioning my choices. Why now? Why after being with this man for four years and going through every twist and turn of his life have I just now begun to question my choices? Perhaps it's the fact that I am now a mother of two and no longer the eager young girl who'd follow Sherlock to the ends of the Earth. Or maybe it's the fact that I've started to reflect on our many adventures and have come to see how insane this life is. No matter the reasoning behind it, the questions have arisen.

And it was all trigged by walking into this gun shop.

It's not really a shop, per say. It's more like something out of a spy movie; An old, de-creped building in a less than welcoming part of town, selling all sorts of weapons (illegally, no doubt). What am I doing here? Why am I here? More questions for my already buzzing mind.

Sherlock had dropped Hamish and Charlotte off with John and Mary then surprised me at closing, announcing the he will be taking me to dinner and then for a quick outing. He was dressed so casually in just jeans and gray t-shirt, with his curls all a mess. Trusting his word, like I always do, I followed his lead. We had a wonderful time at small cafe near the museum, chatting as if we were on a date and there wasn't a trouble in the world, holding hands on the table the whole time. It was nice, really nice. We hadn't done something like that in ages.

Unfortunately, the blissful mood didn't last. Sherlock paid for lunch then took me by the hand toward where he had parked the car that Sherlock had borrowed from Mycroft-because apparently he wanted one. He then handed me a large black hoodie and some sneakers, then told me to put them on. _"Where we are going, love, we have to blend in,"_ he had explained while putting on that over-sized blue jacket I've seen him wear when he's undercover. I did as I was told, not questioning a second of it.

My first mistake, I guess.

I got in then my husband drove toward the outer parts of the city. He had explained to me during the drive that if I was to seriously assist in this Moriarty matter that I would need to prepare myself. _"I won't let you go into a fight blindly,"_ he had said,_ "You need to protect yourself." _And that is how we ended up here in this dump, looking at different types of hand guns. On the outside, I'm just hiding behind my husband and letting take the lead; oddly enough, he seems to now what he's doing here. On the inside, I'm screaming.

"So, how does it feel?" Sherlock asks, breaking me out of my mental soliloquy.

"Hm, huh, what?" I mumble, shifting my gaze from the black contraption in my hands to my husband's adoring eyes. Oh God, those eyes; they never cease to sweep me off my feet and make my heart race a hundred miles a minute. He smiles at me and takes my small hands into his.

"You're not going to be able to decide if this is the right one for you if you just stare at it," he says, adjusting the gun so that I can grip onto it properly, "It's a feeling. You have to be absolutely comfortable wielding the gun; trust both yourself and the weapon. Just place your fingers here, love, yes that's it...There! Now, how does it feel?"  
I look back at the gun now gripped tightly in my sweating palms. It feels heavy, both literally and figuratively. This little contraption can be the decision maker between life and death, all in the matter of an instant. Granted this is isn't the first time I've held a gun and usually I'm fine with them. But this gun, the possibility of it being my very own gun, scares me. Can a handle the responsibility to make a decision to shoot or not? Can I bare the consequences?

"Fee, darling," Sherlock says, breaking my thoughts again, "you're standing here still as a statue, please do say something."  
I look to him, then back at the gun, then at my wrist watch and let out a sigh of relief: "It't getting late," I say, thankful for an escape from this terribly awkward shopping trip, "we should go."

"Really?" he asks, checking his own watch, "I told John we'd be back in time to put the kids to bed but it's only..."  
"Yes, I know but, well, you know traffic," I stammer, "An-and don't you have work? Things to finish up, new leads to follow and, um, you know, stuff...and things...and yeah."

"Stuff and things," Sherlock echoes, sounding unimpressed by my poor choice of an excuse, "I don't think I've ever heard you speak so eloquently, my dear."

"Shut up, Sherlock. You know what I mean." I grumble, handing him the gun, "I'm just...you know and...Look, love, can we just go?"

Sherlock chuckles slightly but his expression quickly changes as his eyes narrow on me. He's deducing...damn it. Even as his wife, I feel just as uncomfortable as the rest of the word does when being studied by Sherlock Holmes. He can read your life story just by looking at you; it's unnerving and fascinating.

His eyes then shift from me to the gun now resting in his hands. "Oh, I see," he mutters, half to himself, "you're afraid."

"What? No, no, not really," I lie, "It's nothing. I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine."

Unconvinced, Sherlock wraps the gun up in cloth bag from a nearby table and then snaps his fingers rather loudly; "Oi," he calls out to the jittery man in the corner, "we'll have this one."

"Sherlock." I whisper, pulling on his jacket sleeve, "I-I don't..."

"Want a gun, I know," he finishes for me, "but you need it."  
"Sherlock, please, it's more than that."  
"We can talk at home."  
"Sherlock."

"Whatta say, mate?" he says, returning his attention to the man.

"The Browning? Good choice," the man replies, coming over to us, "I nicked it off a-"  
"I don't care how you got," Sherlock states, handing him a wad of cash, "All I ask is for you to forget you saw us and let us be on our way. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, you got it Shezza," the man replies, counting the wad, "See ya and you as well, miss."

I give the man an awkward nod then hide myself behind Sherlock as if I could disappear in his shadow. Sherlock stuffs the gun into his jacket pocket then takes me by the hand; "Let's go," he whispers, wrapping his free arm around my shoulders in a protective manner. I prop the large hood of my black jacket up over my head and quickly walk out of the building with my husband.

The chilly night air of London fills my lungs and I instantly feel a sense of relief. My head is no longer buzzing and the questions have ceased; they are still present in the forefront of my mind, but just not a loud as before. Sherlock doesn't say anything, which makes me a little nervous. Is he mad? Is he disappointed? What is going on in his brain?

The two of us get into the car, but instead of putting the key in the ignition, Sherlock turns to me and takes my hand into his; "I'm sorry." he states rather matter of factly, catching me completely off guard.

"Come again?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, "you were overwhelmed in there and I should have told you about this before hand."

"Oh, well, um...it's okay." I mumble, "What's done is done."  
"Yes, but you know that you could've told me that this was too much for you," he says, gently rubbing his thumb over my wedding band, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. Why didn't you tell me you knew where to get illegal hand guns?" I unexpectedly snap, "Or, why haven't you told me about your so-called undercover work? Has any of that got to do with this place? Do you know those kind of people personally? Is that why that guy called you Shezza?! And what kind of a name is Shezza?! That's just ridiculous."

"It's the best I could come up with," Sherlock says, completely unphased by my unexpected rant, "but go on: get it all out there now."

"Don't taunt me," I hiss, "I'm upset, Sherlock; upset that you turned our lovely evening into an outing about the case, upset that we just purchased a gun illegally, hell, I'm upset that we even purchased a gun period!"

"You needed it."

"Because Moriarty is going to try and kill me, yes I know. But I don't want to own a gun."  
"Why?"

"Because I don't want to kill anyone! I'm not like you!"

I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. I didn't mean to shout just now. It was the emotions getting the best of me. But I meant that; I'm not like Sherlock or John or even Lestrade. I can't wield a gun and be responsible for someone's death, even if they were killed for good reason. What the hell am I thinking? Killing is never right. God, this is too much.

"I-I'm sorry," I whisper, but my husband just chuckles

"Whatever for," he says, "you needed that rant."

Suddenly, I feel Sherlock pull me in close and wrap his arms around me in a warm embrace. I gladly welcome it and hold him in return, just content to be near him. Very gently, Sherlock strokes my back and places a soft kiss on my forehead; "You have always amazed me with your strength," he says, "There are times during our relationship that you should have left me, fled to some other man and lived a normal life."  
"But I don't want that," I reply, "I want you."

"And you have me, my darling, always. But please understand this," He then pulls back a little so that we are eye to eye and gently cups my face in his hands; "Your strength and dedication to me will be tested until the end of time. Every bit of chaos and every challenge you face will try you and I will do my damnedest to help, but you'll have to find your own way. You can handle it, I know; From the moment I met you, I knew you could handle anything."

"But I can't," I say, "I can't handle that weapon and all the weight it carries."

"You mean that it_ can_ carry," Sherlock points out, stroking a thumb across my cheek, "When holding this gun, you have the power. It's an inanimate object, nothing more."

"That's what scares me," I exclaim, "what if I can't handle that sort of power?"

"You can and if the moment arises, I know you will make the right choice."

Sherlock then gazes into my eyes and smiles. My heart flutters and I feel as if I'm going to melt right into his arms. Before I know it, our lips are locked in a sweet kiss. All of troubles are melted away for the moment and that's okay. Yes, perfectly okay.

"I pray to whatever deity above that you never have to use this," Sherlock whispers when we part, handing me the gun, "but for my sake, please take it. For protection and to put my mind at ease."

I look down at the weapon and cautiously take it into my grip. It doesn't seem so heavy now; just a necessary weight, if there ever could be such a thing. The questions begin to grow louder in my mind again, but I choose to ignore them. No point in wondering _'what if' _and _'why.' _I have to be brave, just like I've always been.

I have to trust my Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6: During Their Morning Rituals

_**Greetings from post San Diego Comic Con, friends! How are we all and I hope ya'll are having a wonderful week. I had a lovely weekend down at 'nerd central' and saw some pretty amazing things (yes, I saw Benedict Cumberbatch and yes, he is that charming in real life). **_

_**Sorry to keep you all waiting, but I am now back in full swing and ready to crank out some new chapters. This one is a bit choppy because I wrote during my short amount of free time over the weekend, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. **_

_**I write for you guys, truly, and hearing the feedback from you all brings me joy.**_

_**As always, I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Chapter 6: During Their Morning Rituals**_

_7:30 AM_

"Mummy! Daddy! Time to get up!"

I groan slightly as I roll my body from it's side to lay flat on my back. Sherlock is still sound asleep and practically hidden under the covers; seriously, sometimes this man can sleep through anything! Even without opening my eyes to look at the alarm clock I know that it is far to early to be up on a Saturday morning. Never the less, if Hamish wishes to be then the rest of the house must be as well.

"Um, Hello-oo!" Hamish calls out, jumping up on the bed and crawling into the space between Sherlock and I, "It time to get up."  
"Mm, okay, honey," I mumble, running my hands through my hair, "Few more minutes."

"Nope, now," Hamish states, "Seester is up and I'm up, dat mean Mum and Dad need to be up too."

"Your son makes a valid point," I hear Sherlock mumble from within his cacoon of blankets. I finally open my eyes and smack my husband's shoulder to which he just reacts with a sleepy groan.

"He's your son too," I point out. Sherlock lets out another unintelligible groan then starts to gently snore, signifying that he has fallen back asleep.

He was out extremely late last night doing more of that 'undercover' work. I don't know what exactly that entails, but he's coming close to finding this house by the sea we've been invited to. According to his sources, there is a house near Barafundle that is being occupied by some of Moriarty's former cohorts. He's starting to put a plan together and it makes me both nervous and excited; I want this all to end, but I'm scared to start.

Finally deciding that I should get out of bed, I let out a loud yawn and push back the covers; "Alright, sweetheart," I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, "Let's go get Charlotte."

"Wha bow Dad?" Hamish asks, "Is he getting up?"  
"Well, love, let's ask him," I ask. I stand up and scoop my son up into my arms then adjust Hamish onto my hip. We lean in close so that I can pull the covers down to see Sherlock's tired eyes; "Honey," I tease him, running my hand through his hair, "How about getting up? Your son wants you too."

"Yeah! Up, Dad, up!" Hamish giggles, reaching down so that he too can ruffle Sherlock's curls.

"Mmph," Sherlock groans, "10...give me ten minutes..."

"Fine, be lazy then," I playfully say, "We'll be in the living room." I place a kiss on my husband's cheek then fix my hold on Hamish as we head out to make some breakfast.

_8:30 AM_

I'm finishing heating up a bottle for Charlotte while Hamish is seated at the counter, munching away at his pancakes. Sherlock has yet to emerge from the bedroom, which isn't entirely a shock; wether he works late or not, Sherlock never gets out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

"Mommy, Nan is coming up in a bit." Hamish says through a mouth full of pancakes

"Don't talk with your mouth full, sweetheart," I say, picking Charlotte up and balancing the very happy baby on my hip, "And how do you know that Mrs. Hudson will be up?"  
"Cause, she always bring tea fur us at half pass 8. " Hamish replies as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

"Hamish...when did you learn to tell time?"  
"Dad, taught me. It easy, Mummy."

"Of course." I say, with a slight roll of my eyes, "Sorry I asked." Sometimes, I forget that my son is a child of genius.

As if on cue, the gentle sound of Mrs. Hudson's knock on our door frame and her familiar "Yoo hoo," fills the room.

"In the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson," I call out, "Come on in."

"I just wanted to drop off your tea," she says, entering with a tray full of biscuits and a fresh pot of tea.

"Yup, we knows," Hamish says, giving me a proud smirk. I just chuckle and shake my; Geez, he's getting to be more like Sherlock by the day.

"Where is that silly husband of yours?" Mrs. Hudson asks, setting the tray down on the counter.

"Being lazy," I reply, adjusting my eager two month old to rest her head on my shoulder, "he had a late night."

"Oh, doesn't he always," she says, pouring tea into a few of the cups she has brought up with her, "You know, I've always told him that he needs a healthier sleep schedule. Always running about at unearthly hours, chasing criminals in all sorts of weather, it's not good for him."  
"I know, Mrs. Hudson," I reply, half really listening to her but mainly focusing on feeding my daughter.

Just then, the bedroom door squeaks open and out comes Sherlock, lazily putting on his blue dressing gown over his gray pajama shirt and blue flannel pants. His curls are all over the place and he looks like an utter mess; an adorable mess really, but a mess none the less. Without even acknowledging anyone else in the room, he takes a seat, folds his arms on the table then plops his head down atop them as if to fall back asleep again.

"Oh, look whose awake before noon," Mrs. Hudson says, handing Sherlock a cup of tea, "Good morning, dear."

"Mm," comes Sherlock's muffled reply. Mrs. Hudson and I exchange a look of 'Oh well' as I take a seat beside my husband.

"Daddy's up! Daddy's up!" Hamish squeals, "'Low, Daddy!"

"Yes, hello again, Hamish," Sherlock yawns, giving his son a small wave without lifting his head. Charlotte then waves her chubby little hands about to get her father's attention and lets out a soft giggle. "Mm, yes, hello to you too Charlotte," he coos, placing his hand in his daughter's grip, making her very happy indeed.

"10 more minutes, huh?" I tease.

Sherlock then lifts his head and gives me lazy scowl; "Shut up, Fee," he grumbles, gently pushing me to the side. I laugh then place a lazy kiss on my husband's cheek as he drops his head to rest on my shoulder.

He's not fully awake yet, but then again he rarely is an early riser. His brain doesn't kick into full gear until about 9am, unless there is a case really pressing on his mind. Days like these though, when he sleeps in and takes his time, he just takes is slow...well, as slow as Sherlock Holmes could take anything.

"When did you get in last night?" Mrs. Hudson asks as she cleans up the tea tray, "Must've been some unnatural hour if you are still this tired."  
"Mrs. Hudson, why do you insist on talking to me when I clearly don't have the patience at the moment to listen," Sherlock lazily replies, "Mind you, I never really listen to you because it is physically painful to watch you think."  
"Sherlock," I scold, nudging his head with my shoulder, "be polite."

"It's quite alright, dear," Mrs. Hudson assures me as she picks up the tea tray, "I'm used to his morning grumpiness. Actually, I'm used to his all around grumpiness, but I know that he doesn't really mean it; You've got a heart, Sherlock Holmes, don't act like you don't."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you can go now." Sherlock dismisses her. I just roll my eyes, giving up on the lost cause to make Sherlock Holmes show some manners.

Once Mrs. Hudson is back downstairs at her flat and Charlotte has finished her bottle, Sherlock gets up and lets out a loud yawn, stretching his back; "Let me cradle her for bit, Fee," he says, motioning his arms toward Charlotte, "In fact, I 'll watch both her and Hamish for a bit if you want to get some chores done."

"You sure?" I ask, handing him our giddy little girl

"Of course," he says, "I'll be home all day today and can keep an eyes on them while I work."

"Can I 'elp?" Hamish asks, climbing out of his chair and scurring over to Sherlock's side, "Daddy, I wans to 'elp wit your work."  
"I'm sure we can find something for you to do that can help me, Hamish," Sherlock replies, smiling down at his son. He then turns his attention to Charlotte and nuzzles his nose against her's, causing her to let out a laugh. I just smile at the scene and start to clean up the dishes.

_9:00 AM_

The hot, pounding streams of water from the shower head pour down my entire body, relaxing every muscle in my body. Hamish is in the living room while Sherlock studies his work and bounces Charlotte in his lap. This is my short break from being a mom; the time I get to think, settle my nerves a bit, relax. Moments like this are sometimes too far and few, but I don't mind it. I enjoy being a mother and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Sadly, my moment has to end and I turn off the water. I step out and wrap a towel around my body, letting my long dark hair to just lay flat against my bare back. Just as I am about to turn on the hair dryer, I hear the bathroom door creek open. I freeze for a moment, fearing who may be stepping in on my private moment, but then relax when I see Sherlock's reflection in the steamy mirror.

"What is it?" I tease, clearing a section of the mirror with my hand, "This must be important if it couldn't wait until I got dried off."

"It is," he replies solemnly, "I found it."

"Found what?"

"The house by the sea."

I freeze and time seems to be come to a halt. This morning was going so smoothly that I had completely forgot about Moriarty's threat; I had pushed the very thought of that man out of my mind. My heart starts to pound and goosebumps start to cover my skin with the thought of where this conversation could lead.

"Oh," I finally reply, "Is...is it where we suspected?"  
"Yes, it appears so." He says, sounding a little disappointed, "The pieces, um, they all seem to point to Barafundle."

I can't muster a vocal reply, just a nod. What is there to say, really? Because he found this place, Sherlock will now be planing to go meet up with Moriarty and complete this threat. I'll be by his side, just as I promised I would be, but I'll be terrified. I don't know what's going to happen, no damn idea. What if Moriarty plans to kill Sherlock? What if this is just a distraction to keep Sherlock away from the real plan? God, what if I'm going to have to use that gun? I can't think this way, but I can't keep these thoughts at bay.

To my utter surprise and breaking my train of thought, Sherlock comes up behind me and wraps his long arms around my waist. I close my eyes and lean back into his hold as he nuzzles his head between my neck and shoulder. His lips gently press against my neck and I can't help but raise a hand up to tangle my fingers in his mess of curls.

"Sherlock," I sigh, "What are we going to do?"

"Face this," he replies, "what more can we do? This needs to be delt with."

"But, honey, the kids-"

"Will stay with John and Mary while we're away. If there are any two people that I would trust to protect our children, it's them."

"And...when do we leave?"

He doesn't reply right away. He's upset, deeply upset. I know that even though he'll never say it, Sherlock doesn't want to be involved in this Moriarty mess. He thought he had finished this part of his life all those years ago; it was supposed to be over and done with. Now, however, it seems that life has a different plan.

"3 days," he finally says, looking forward into the mirror so take in both of our expressions, "that should be enough time for us to put things together. I'll call the museum myself, Fee, about giving you the time off. After all, this is my fault and I shouldn't let you take any downfall from it."

I nod in response and take in how upset Sherlock is right now. Very slowly, I turn my body around so to be face to face with him. I wrap my arms around his neck and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth; "Nothing is your fault," I tell him as I rest my head against his chest, "this was all out of your hands."

"Then why do I feel so responsible," Sherlock asks, wrapping me up in a warm embrace and resting his head atop my own, "None of this wouldn't have happened if I..."

"Don't." I say, holding him a bit tighter, "Just...let's not have this discussion right now."

Sherlock just nods and places a kiss atop my head; "I promise you I'll solve this in no time," he whispers into my hair, "We'll be back to having our morning with Hamish and Charlotte before you know it my darling, darling girl."

"And I know that we will." I reply, "I believe in you, my brilliant genius."

Everything is quiet and still right now, just like the calm before the storm. It's funny; that phrase has never been more appropriate then this morning. Because that is what Moriarty is: a storm. He is a storm that causes nothing by disaster everywhere he passes through. This morning though, being woken up by our son and enjoying breakfast with our kids, was that last bit of normality before things get out of control. It feels as if, this regular morning will be the one thing that will get us through the chaos yet to come.

Because that is all that is expected to come: unwanted, unnecessary chaos.


	7. Chapter 7: Saying Goodbye

_**Goodness, it's felt like ages since I updated and for that I apologize. I have been in Hawaii with family and then had to jump right back into work once I came home. But I'm back! Yay!**_

_**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. The next few prompts I hope to get more involved into the case and add in some drama that way. Also, I plan on posting a Sherlolly story very soon, but I am very nervous about it. It's an AU and something very different for me so I'm taking a personal leap by posting it. We'll see how it goes, huh?  
**_

_**As always, I do not BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon. **_

_**Much love and many thanks.**_

_**Chapter 7: Saying Goodbye**_

"Elfie Marie,"

"Mm-hmm."

"It's time to go."

"Mmph...Sherlock, no."

"I know, love, but we have to."

Lazily, I open my eyes and roll onto my back. My husband is leaning over me, a hand gently resting on my shoulder and his eyes looking down at me with a gaze that could only be described as melancholy. Has 3 days actually passed already? It can't have.

"Sherlock," I whisper, whipping my eyes, "did you wake the kids?"  
"I haven't," my husband replies, "John and Mary will be here shortly to take them to their house, but I don't want to wake Hamish and Charlotte until they have to...I mean, until we have to..."

Seeing how hard it is for him to say it, I reach a hand up and gently stroke his cheek; "Until we have to go." I say for him.

He doesn't want to go, nor do I, but we have to face the inevitable. This case, this god-awful case, has to be solved and there is only one way to do that. We have to play Moriarty's game and solve this. In all honesty, I don't know where this will lead or even if we can fix anything through this, but we have to try. It's the least we could do.

Reluctantly, I climb out of bed. My clothes that Sherlock had picked out for me are laying atop the dresser along with a pair of tennis shoes; Sherlock said that we should disguise ourselves so that we don't draw attention. For a moment I dread the idea of putting them on. Sherlock has to wear a 'disguise' too (his jeans and black t-shirt with that big blue hoodie he's become so fond of recently) but it's not the same; he's used to 'dressing up' for work, I'm not. Not only do I have to go chasing after Moriarty, I have to hide behind some sort of a facade; I can't even be myself. It hurts my pride a tiny bit, I won't lie, but there's no point in dwelling on it. I'm a strong woman, I can get over it.

Groaning, I pick up the jeans and brown t-shirt combo up then head to the bathroom to shower. Just as I reach the door, Sherlock takes a hold of my wrist and pulls me into a deep kiss on the lips. I reciprocate the romantic gesture, gently resting a hand over his fast beating heart.

"That was unexpected," I breathe out when we part and I'm about to continue until he places a finger to my lips.

"Please," he whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling his forehead with mine, "just...please." He cups my face in his hands and we kiss again but this time is much softer. When we part, Sherlock doesn't say another word to me. He just runs his fingers through my hair and then heads toward the kitchen. I don't know what he was saying please for just now, but I don't linger too long on it. With Sherlock, sometimes you just have to accept the fact that you can't always understand what he's really saying.

After my shower and once I'm dressed, I meet Sherlock back in the bedroom. He is sitting at the foot of our bed, slipping on his hoodie and staring off into the distance in deep thought. Probably slipping into that mind palace for a short bit. I decide to just go about my business and not bother him at the moment. I stand in front of the mirror and tie my hair back into a high ponytail. As I adjust my dusty old brown cap on my head, I notice my husband in the reflection of the mirror rise up and walk over to me. Before I know it, his long arms are wrapped around my waist and his chin is resting on my shoulder.

"Haven't seen that hat in ages," he states, holding me close, "I didn't know you still had it."

"Neither did I," I reply, tucking in a few stray hairs, "I found it the other day while I was packing."

"Hmm," Sherlock hums in reply as if the word 'packing' had bothered him in some way. He then lets out a deep sigh and places a soft kiss on my cheek; "You look like the woman I met four years ago," he says,"the one who would follow me wherever I'd go, no matter what."

"I'm still her," I point out, taking his hands into mine, "I'll always be her."

"Even now?"

"Yes, even now. If I didn't...then we would be getting ready to go at 4 in the morning, would we?"

Sherlock just nods in agreement and gives my hands an gentle squeeze: "I love you, Fee."  
"I love you too."

It's then very quiet between Sherlock and I as we make our final preparations to leave. Actually, complete silence is a more accurate word to use. We don't even make eye contact as we pass each other while placing some last minute things into our bags. The air is thick and tense, like a calm before a storm. We're not mad at each other, just upset; upset that we have to leave our kids, upset that this even has to happen...just upset.

While Sherlock takes our bags downstairs, I go and wake up Hamish and Charlotte. Tears begin to sting my eyes, but I can't cry, not now at least. I have to be strong through all of this, I promised Sherlock I would be. But as I step into my childrens bedroom, my tears just roll freely down my cheeks. What am I doing? I can't leave my kids to hunt down some criminal mastermind! Then again...they are the reason I have to.

"Hamish, sweetheart," I whisper to my son as I kneel down beside his bed, "time to get up."

He grumbles a little bit but then opens his eyes; "Mummy, is still dark," he yawns, holding his arms out to me.

"I know, I know," I coo, scooping him up into my arms, "but John will be here soon."  
"But den...you and Dad going to leave." Hamish says with a sniffle.

"And we will be back before you know it," I reply, kissing his cheeks, "I promise."

"I love you, Mum."  
"I love you too, Hamish...so very much."

After what feels like an eternity, I reluctantly set my son down and help him get his things together. I then go to Charlotte's crib and lift my daughter up into my arms. She only stirs slightly but then relaxes back into a restful sleep. Oh to be like her right now; to just sleep through all the troubles of the world, knowing that someone will just take care of you forever. I place a gentle kiss on her forehead and hold her close, never wanting to let her go.

"I love you, my little girl," I coo, rubbing my nose against her's, "Know that, please, and never forget it."

"John's here." Sherlock states rather coldly from the doorway, breaking my train of thought. I slowly turn to face him and, for the first time this morning, take in how sad he really is. Those sea foam green eyes aren't shining like they normally do and his face is sullen and cold.

Sherlock Holmes: the only person who can show so much emotion in an emotionless face.

"Daddy, up." Hamish says, walking over to his father with his arms open wide. Sherlock swoops him up into his arms and holds him close to his chest.

"Come on, young man," he whispers to him, "let's go."

"No," Hamish whines, nuzzling his little head of curls in between Sherlock's neck and shoulder, "I no wanna!"

"Hamish, come now," Sherlock tries, "we've talked about this."

"No."

"Hamish, please."  
"No, Dad, no!"

Hamish clutches to Sherlock as tight as possible and I notice that Sherlock doesn't fight it. He simply holds the boy as tight and as close to his chest as possible while placing a kiss atop his head; "You have to be brave, little one," I hear Sherlock whisper, "I need you to be strong."

Sherlock gently adjusts Hamish onto his hip and then, with his free hand, picks up our son's stuffed overnight bag. Our eyes lock for a mere moment, but then we both look away. I think there's too many emotions floating around right now for either of us to speak. I toss Charlotte's bag of things over my shoulder and cradle her close then head out to meet John. He is waiting in the living room dressed in his sweats and looking at Sherlock and I with sadness and care. He doesn't want us to leave either, obviously. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay him and Mary for taking care of the kids. The Watsons are too good to us.

"She'll sleep for a few more hours," I tell John as I gently (and reluctantly) move Charlotte into his arms, "She isn't fussy when she wakes up, so that should, um, should be relatively easy. Everything she needs is in the bag and, well, if...if you need to ask anything just, um, just-"  
"Fee," he says, setting a hand on my shoulder. We just look at one another and I immediately wrap my arms around him in a hug. He hugs me in return, careful of course not to put Charlotte between us. John has always been a comfort to me, no matter what. When Sherlock was gone for those three years, it was John who got me through everything. Even when he had found Mary and was ready to start his new life, John was at my side when I needed help with Sherlock's depression. He's the best support anyone could ask for and I will forever be in his debt.

"Thank you," I whisper when we part

"Anytime," he replies with a smile. He then turns his attention to Sherlock, who is standing by the window still holding Hamish. "Do you...need help with..." John begins to ask, but Sherlock quickly shakes his head.

"No, no, no," he says, "we're fine. Hamish, aren't we okay?" Hamish starts to fidget in his father's arms and turn his little head away from Sherlock. "Now, now, what's this?" Sherlock coos, gently rubbing his hand up and down Hamish's back, "Are you trying to run away from me?"

Hamish doesn't reply, but I can see his lips turn into a deep pout.

"Oh, I see. The silent treatment," Sherlock goes on, completely ignoring the fact that John and I are still in the room, "You know, your mother tired that on me once, but it wasn't of much use. I still continued to bother her."

He then looks over at us and motions for us to head downstairs. We both turn to leave, but only John heads down the stairs; I remain in the doorway, watching my boys and listening to what Sherlock has to say to our son. I watch him set the boy down and then squat down to be eye level with him. Hamish won't look up at his father nor get rid of that little pout, but he allows Sherlock to take hold of his hands.

"I know you're mad at your mum and me," I hear Sherlock say, "and really I don't blame you for that. We don't want to go; we don't want to leave you and your sister."

"Den don't." Hamish mumbles, shuffling his feet together, "Stay."

"You know that I wish we could."

"Den I go too."  
"Hamish, I need you to stay here." Sherlock says, getting on his knees now and sounding almost like he's pleading with our toddler, "I need you to take care of Charlotte and watch out for her. I need you to be the strong one for her since Mum and I will be gone. Hamish this...this work your mother and I have to do is so we can protect the both of you, do you understand?"  
Hamish gives a little nod.

"There is nothing in this world that I won't do to protect you, my darling son, because I love you, so very very much." Sherlock then removes his scarf from around his neck and wraps it around Hamish's; "Here. When you were a baby, you held onto this for me while I was away, do you remember?"  
"Uh-huh." Hamish replies, finally looking at Sherlock.

"You took such good care of it for me," Sherlock goes on, running a hand through the boy's curls, "Will you do so again, young man? Take this as a promise, a promise that I will always come back to you. Can you do that for me, Hamish?"  
"Mhm," our son replies, hugging his father again.

"Good man," Sherlock says, kissing our son's cheek, "Yes, good man."

I watched them just embrace for God only knows how long. It seems that time has come to a sort of halt and oh how I wished that were so; it would mean then we wouldn't have to go. I look on with watery eyes as they parted and Sherlock rises to his feet. He offers his hand to Hamish and our son gently takes it.

"Shall we?" Sherlock offers and Hamish nods. My husband then looks to the doorway and gives me that little half-mouth smirk of his that I love so dearly. There is a spark in his eyes now and it brings me a small bit of hope. It's his way of saying '_It's going to be alright now. We are going to be alright.' _It's not much, but it helps.

"You look like your dad, Hamish," I say as they reach the doorway. Hamish just nods and offers his other hand out to me. I gladly take it and then the three of us head downstairs.

After I pick up my bag and Sherlock picks up his, we step outside with our son in tow. The sky is dark and there is a slight mist of rain falling from the clouds. The street is practicality covered in fog making it difficult to see anything further then what is in front of us. John has set Charlotte in her carrier and is positioning her into the backseat of his car, which is just parked out front. Sherlock's car, the one he had borrowed from Mycroft, is parked in front of John's, awaiting for us to just climb in and go.

"All set then?" John asks, looking down at our son, "Do you need anything else?"

"Even if we did, I couldn't ask anything more of you John," Sherlock replies, handing him Hamish's bag. He then leans down to look into John's car and places a kiss atop Charlotte's soft, dark brown peach fuzz covered head; "I love you, my little girl," I hear him whisper to her as he gently glides his finger over the top of her nose, "Don't grow up while we're gone, alright?"

I can't help but smile at his sweet comment and I notice that John is smiling too; he must've heard it as well. Sherlock then stands back up and offers a hand to John; "I can never thank you enough, my friend." he says, "Truly."  
"You never say thank you," John points out, shaking Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Yes, but for my children I make a point in using my manners," he replies with a smirk. John just laughs and then, unexpectedly, brings Sherlock in for a friendly hug. Confused at first but then grateful for the friendly comfort, Sherlock returns the gesture. They quickly part and don't utter a single word. Just a couple of nods and then Sherlock heads toward our awaiting car to pack in our last bags.

Hamish then looks up at me and gives my hand a small tug to gain my attention; "Bye Mummy," he says, opening his arms out to me so to pick him up. Suddenly, I see before me the little boy I used to cradle when I was a 'widow', back when it was just the two of us. Instantly, I swoop Hamish up into my arms and place a deep kiss on his cheek.

"It's not bye forever, you know," I whisper to him, "I love you."

"Love you too, Mummy." Hamish says, kissing my cheek.

"You be good for John and Mary, okay? And watch out for Charlotte."

"I puh-miss."  
"I know you do."

I give my boy one more tight hug and then reluctantly hand him over to John. "I'll have my phone on me at all times," he assures me, situating Hamish onto his hip, "if you need anything at all or, you know, just want to check up on them."  
"I know they are in good hands," I reply with a smirk, "I trust you."

"Yeah, but you'll still want to call."

"Of course."

John and I chuckle then share a friendly embrace; "Solve this one quick, yeah," he whispers to me, "Put this whole Moriarty business to rest."

"Sherlock will," I promise, "we'll be back before you know it." We part and I place one more kiss on Hamish's cheek before heading over to join Sherlock at our car.

"Everything is in. Completely set for a 4 hour journey," he says to me once I am standing beside him on the passenger side, "Left anything behind?"

"That's a loaded question," I reply, motioning my head toward John's car.

Sherlock lets out a sigh and takes my hands into his; "We will be home in a matter of days, you'll see," he says, kissing my knuckles, "I...I don't like leaving them here anymore than you do, Fee, but they will be safe with John and Mary. You know that."

"That doesn't make leaving them any easier."  
"Never said that it did."

A meek smile grows across Sherlock's lips and I can't help but feel completely in love with him right now. He's always been my comfort in times like these and now, I need his love more than ever. Very gently, I cup his face in my hand and place a kiss on his lips. He returns the gesture and I can feel his arms wrap around my waist.; "That was unexpected," he whispers, but I quickly place a finger to his lips before he can say more.

"Let's just go," I reply, stroking his cheek, "please."

Sherlock merely nods and opens the passenger door for me. I climb in and shut the door while Sherlock climbs into the driver's seat. He puts the keys in the ignition but before he starts the car, Sherlock turns to me with the most heartfelt gaze I've ever seen; "I don't want to go, but I have to" he says and just like that, he turns back toward the steering wheel and we start to drive off.

For a moment there, Sherlock let his guard completely down and I could see how hurt he is right now. We both are. This burden is too much, but we have to carry it on. There is no giving up now and even if we had the choice, I don't think either of us would turn back. We have to end this Moriarty business, just like John said.

We have to end it for good.


	8. Chapter 8:Doing Something Together

_**It's been ages since I've updated this story and for that I apologize. I haven't lost interest or anything, I've just hit some major writers block with this. I have a plan and I want to make sure that it's translated to the page from my head as well as it can be. Does that make sense? Ugh, excuses. Sorry.**_

_**Any who, here is another chapter and I hope you all enjoy it. I have also started writing a Sherlolly story (Louder Than Words) that I hope you guys can check out and let me know what you think. **_

_**As always, I do not own BBC Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cannon.**_

_**Much love and many thanks...truly.**_

_**Chapter 8: Doing Something Together (Addressing the Moriarty Issue)**_

"Fee?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Where are my thumb tacks?"

"Sorry, your...your what?"

"My thumb tacks! Where have you put them? I packed a whole container of them. Do you know where they are?"

"Um, probably still in your suitcase since I haven't touched anything inside it."

"Ah, yes, of course; Stupid of me to think you did. Thank you...And where is my suitcase?"

Reluctantly, I set my book down on the bedside table and get up from the bed. I wrap Sherlock's jacket around me as tight as possible then head over to the suitcase sitting beside the large oak dresser in the corner of the bedroom. It's very gray outside, as if a huge storm were about to blow in. The howling wind causes this old holiday home to creek and it sends a chill up my spine. God only knows how old this place is and if it can still stand all this wind. Letting my irrational fear of the house coming down on us, I quickly grab my husband's pack of thumb tacks and rush to the den to give them to him.

This isn't the house by the sea Moriarty had alluded to in his threat. No, this is a small cottage near Barafundle that Sherlock's family owns. His mother's side, not his father's. To be perfectly honest, if this home belonged to his father, Sherlock wouldn't have told me about let alone be willing to stay here. Any memory of his father would just add more stress to onto Sherlock's plate. God, that's the last thing we need right now.

The drive here was very long and very quiet. There was nothing really for us to say to one another. Sherlock kept his eyes straightforward and focused on driving while I gloomily stared out the passenger window, watching the world pass me by. My mind was on my kids and nothing else:

Were they okay?

Did they already start to miss us?

Do they really understand that Sherlock and I are going to be gone for days?

Will they think we've abandoned them?

My brain was in overdrive and I couldn't focus on anything else. It wasn't until Sherlock slipped his hand from the wheel to rest comfortably on my thigh that I felt a bit of comfort in my heart. He always could do that, you know. Calm my ever buzzing mind; he could always bring me back to Earth.

When I reach the den, I am confused by the scene. Sherlock is standing atop the wooden coffee table, holding his hands out in front of him as if he were measuring some imaginary piece of furniture to hang on the wall. A small fire is going in the stone fireplace, where there are some strings attached to the top of the mantel by tape, their ends dangling ever so close to the flames. All of the shades have been pulled down giving the room a very dark and eerie feel to it. In the center of the room, there are three enormous stacks of papers set in a triangle formation with Sherlock's laptop sitting in the middle, a frozen picture of Moriarty's now infamous "Did you miss me?" video on the screen.

We've been here a total of 2 hours and he's already made it look like 221b.

"What...what are you doing?" I ask, shaking my head in frustration.

Sherlock quickly turns and smiles. He bounds off of the table and comes rushing toward me; "The thumb tacks. Thank you." he says, taking the small packaged from my hands, "Now, to get to the real work." He places a chaste kiss on my cheek and then runs over the strings.

I watch in utter confusion as he ties a tack to the end of each string and mutters things to himself under his hair is all a mess and he's wearing his red dressing gown and black dress pants with no shirt. In short, he looks like a mad man who has just trashed their living room after a psychotic breakdown.

"Oh God, has it actually happened?" I say, mockingly placing a hand on my chest is shock, "Has Sherlock Holmes lost his mind?"  
"Oh ho ho, very amusing my dear," Sherlock replies, waving a hand in the air dismissively, "I'll have you know that my mind is perfectly in tact. All of this is part of my work."  
"Is it, now," I tease, "for a moment there I thought you had taken art lessons from our son and decided to show off some of your skills." Sherlock looks at me with a judgmental gaze to which I just chuckle. "Seriously though, love, what is all of this?"

"I told you: work." he replies, picking up some papers, "I'm building a case board over the mantle piece."

"A what?"  
"A case board, Fee. You've seen one before. I make them at home all the time."

"Oh, is that what you call the mess of papers you always hang on our living room wall?"

Sherlock lets out an annoyed groan and then begins tacking the papers to the wall. Some of them he starts connecting with the strings, making a crazy web of threads. I watch as he places a glossy 8' by 10 image directly in what would be the middle of his collage. It is the mug shot of Jim Moriarty, taken all those years ago when that awful trial was going on.; "You have never questioned my methods before, Fee." he states, "Why now?"

"I don't know," I reply, walking over his side, "I guess it's the mess of papers that threw me off."

"It's not a mess. They are clearly organized." he states as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

"How so?" I ask

"Pile one to my right there is all the information I have collected during my time undercover," he explains, using his free hand to point while the other is pinning up a paper, "Pile two, the top of the triangle, is everything Moriarty related I have collected in the past 5 years where as the final pile, pile three, is all past data."

"Past data," I repeat, looking at the stack, "meaning what exactly?"

"Meaning the collection of data I had before my time abroad," Sherlock replies, "back when the world found me to be a fraud."

With my interest fully peeked now, I pick up one of the papers from the top of pile three. It's a print out of a newspaper article from about 2 years ago titled: '_Moriarty Walks: Verdict of Not Guilty in Old Bailey Trial.' _Worry starts to build in my heart as I pick up another paper and read it over: _'End of an Era: Sherlock Holmes Takes Own Life in Lieu of Recent Expose.' _Foolishly, I pick up another paper, then another and another and another. They are all from that awful time that I had tried to block in my mind.

That time when Moriarty was on trail, then set free because of his own devious means.

That time when I was left on my own because I thought my husband had taken his own life.

That time when I thought I had lost everything.

"Sherlock, why do you have these?" I ask in a quiet voice.

"Evidence, my dear Elfie," he plainly replies, tacking up some more papers, "I need to go back and see if I had missed something; some small, most likely untraceable thing, that may just lead me to how Moriarty had survived."

"And...and your suicide is part of that." I meekly say, taking a seat on the old couch on the other side of the room.

"Yes, of course it is." Sherlock rambles on, "It was Moriarty's doing! If Moriarty hadn't made me believe in that stupid computer code, then I wouldn't have been up on that rooftop. Then again, I was always going to end up on that rooftop, wasn't I? That was the whole point of all; Moriarty wanted to ruin me and to finish it off, I had to die. But of course, I don't have to remind you of all those details, do I?"

"No, and I'd really prefer it if you didn't talk about it."

Hearing the sadness in my voice, Sherlock finally stops putting up his papers and turns to face me. His eyes meet mine and my breath stills; those piercing blue-green orbs have a softness to them, one that clearly makes my heart skip a beat. He's realized that this topic hurts me. Well, not so much hurts me as makes me sort of shut down and fall into a slum. I don't like being reminded that we had to be separated for 3 years. I don't like thinking back on that day when I had lost Sherlock.

The day I thought my world had ended.

"You're...you're upset." he states, sounding almost like he's asking me if he's right.

"Mm, despite your magnificent skills, Sherlock, it's your simple deductions that amaze me," I coldly reply, looking back down at the article in my hands, "Yes, to put it plainly, I'm upset."

"With me."

"...Not really."

"With the case, then."

"Well, yeah. Isn't that obvious? I mean, it's one thing that this whole mess has separated me from my kids, but now you're telling me I have to revisit your death. No, Sherlock, I can't do that."

He lets out another sigh and runs a hand through his messy curls: "You make it sound as if I want to go back to that time," he says, "Believe me, that is the last thing I want to think about."

"Then why think about it at all?" I counter point, finally looking back up at him, "It can't be that important to the case now."

"Of course it is! All of it's important!" he suddenly snaps, "Don't you see, Fee? Moriarty wants to start our game up again, our rivalry of wits to see who is the better mind. Last time, I clearly underestimated him. I have to revisit my mistakes to evaluate how I can stop him."  
"Is that what this is to you?" I ask, taken back a little by his statement, "A game?"  
"No, it's not just a game. It's never been just a game." he goes on, "This is something completely new and challenging. This is a whole new level..."

"Of a never ending game you and this psychopath play and you could potentially fail," I finish for him, "Sherlock, love, please think about this. Moriarty wants to break you, he always has. He could break you and...and I'm not going to bury you again. I won't."

Upon hearing those words, my husband's serious expression falls. His eyes are full of sadness and regret; that infamous mask of his has finally fallen off. Very rarely, Sherlock will let his walls down and it's in those moments I can see all the emotions that drive him. People always say he's heartless and cold, especially when he's working, but I know the real him. If there is anyone who is completely driven by their emotions, it's Sherlock Scott Holmes. That heart of his is just as vital to his work as his brains. It drives him, even though he'll never admit that.

Like I said, I know him and right now, I can see the real him.

"Come here," Sherlock says in a soft voice, holding his hand out to me. I set down the paper I'm holding and take his hand with a heavy sigh. He then pulls me in close and wraps his arms around me in an embrace. I hold him in return and nuzzle my head under his chin. We remain like this for a few minutes and the tension between us calms.

"The first argument we ever had was about Moriarty," Sherlock says, kissing the top of my head, "do you remember that?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I reply, "and even then I knew that wouldn't have been our last."

Sherlock chuckles slightly and holds me a bit tighter: "Elfie Marie, I love you more than I could ever possibly put into words," he says, running his hands up and down my back, "and I know...I know that my involvement with James Moriarty has always been something that you don't approve of. Believe me though, my darling, that everything I do is so that I can protect you and our family. Getting myself involved with this Moriarty fiasco is all a part of that, don't you see? I have to protect you."

"I know that," I whisper in reply, "I really do. It's just...it scares me."

"I know, but what did I tell you all those years ago, during that trial?"

"You told me not to worry about you."

"And I'm asking that of you again, my darling, darling girl." Very carefully, Sherlock cups my face in his hands and lifts my head so that we can nuzzle our foreheads together; "Don't you worry about me," he whispers, placing a chaste kiss on my cheek, "and I promise you won't loose me again."

"You had better keep that promise," I whisper back before meeting his lips in a kiss. We remain in this small lip lock for a short time. I, content to just have him near, and he, just wanting to protect me.

When we part, Sherlock slowly turns me toward his wall of tacked up papers; "Well, go on then," he says, wrapping his arms around my middle and resting his chin on my shoulder, "You know my methods."

"You're kidding right?" I chuckle, looking at him with a furrowed brow, "Sherlock, I don't know what any of this means. How can I help?"

"That doesn't sound like the Elfie Marie I married," he whispers in my ear, "You wanted to be apart of this yes? And I know that you have some skill in the art of deduction."

"Perhaps, but I'm not you."

"I'm not asking you to be me. I'm asking you to be you."

With another sigh, I turn my gaze back to the papers and look them over. Each one is being placed in a particular order, chronological it seems, and the strings that are tacked between them must be a symbol for how each one is connected. But how? I have no idea what Sherlock has been working on while he's been undercover; how can I study what is in front of me if I don't even know what it all is? I shake my head and gently lean back into my husband's hold: "This could take awhile," I sigh, laying my head back against his shoulder.

"I don't doubt that," Sherlock replies with a laugh. He then takes my hand into his and brings it up to the papers, guiding my fingers to trace across one of the strings; "So, let us start at the beginning..."


End file.
